


Plato Defiled

by Skud



Series: Particular Friends [3]
Category: Master and Commander
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-02-10
Updated: 2004-02-10
Packaged: 2017-10-02 06:51:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skud/pseuds/Skud
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Set during "Fortunes of War".</p>
    </blockquote>





	Plato Defiled

**Author's Note:**

> Set during "Fortunes of War".

"It is folly to even commit these thoughts to paper, folly I should have learnt to avoid since my diary was taken. But despite the fact that I have a pint of laudanum sitting before me, kindly given to me by Choate, I will not measure out my drops until I have written all that I must. I find that my philosophical nature calls for understanding, not mere oblivion, in this case. Therefore I will attempt to analyse the situation in which I find myself, to apply my diagnostic skills as best I may: and when I am done, I will set these papers to the flame."

Stephen wrote by candlelight in his room, the sounds of the hospital quiet now except from the occasional manic cry from downstairs.

"_Medice cura te_, indeed. I had thought that my last course of treatment might serve, and sure, it might have done if it had not been burnt then sunk to the depths of the Atlantic. A ship near full of specimens and ample time for dissections were to divert my attention, and served their purpose admirably as far as the Indies and around the Cape. Such marsupials, such insects, such plants! They have a number of species of _acacia_ whose seeds do not germinate except by passing through a fire - a true phoenix, even if in the realm of flora rather than fauna. To be sure, I was happily distracted for many thousands of miles: only the occasional pang of longing troubled me, and was easily quelled."

He leaned back and thought for a moment of their voyage to New Holland, his increasing melancholia, his first doubt and his shocking realisation. He had suspected a diminution in his interest in natural philosophy, and a corresponding increase in his interest - no, his marked devotion - to Jack Aubrey, his naval friend; had admitted, eventually, that he had traversed the globe for no other reason than to be with him. Jack's love for him was apparent, an honest, open affection as for a brother; Stephen had returned his fraternal affection, and more: he had found his love to be more potent and more terrifying than anything he had ever experienced in the Navy's - in Jack's - service.

Thus he had thrown himself into his collections and his studies. The Captain had laughingly acquiesced to his request to heave to by the great reef that bounded the eastern coast of the continent and send swimmers to collect coral and seashells. They had put in to shore on several occasions, collecting birds and plants and a snake which had almost killed Faster Doudle. The Leopard had become a veritable menagerie, an ark to rival Noah's, though none of the species roaming its decks were any that had been known in biblical times.

His journal had overflowed with diagrams, descriptions, details of every specimen. Occasionally, as when he and Jack had spent an evening in particular musical intimacy, his pen would turn to the other matter; but on the whole, he was as productive as he had ever been.

And then _La Fleche_, carrying them home at a cracking pace, had caught fire and sunk, taking his collection with it. He had found himself in a small boat with Jack, a handful of men, and a pitiful quantity of fresh water and ship's biscuit.

He would never forget those blistering weeks, during which he had seen his friend grow bearded and burnt and painfully thin. For long hours he had sat staring at Jack, his heart near bursting with anguish to see such a robust man brought so near death, while above him a meagre sail fashioned from the cloth of the mens shirts pushed them slowly, too slowly, towards land. He had taken to immersing himself in the sea, trailing along beside the boat with one hand on the gunwales, to diminish the effects of evaporation on his dehydrated form and to get some relief from the unrelenting torture of such close proximity. He had no fluid to spare to fill his tear ducts, yet as he trailed along in the cool water, he wept.

"Stephen, brother, come aboard. It is time for our water." Jack's voice and the touch of his calloused hand on the back of his own roused Stephen from his reverie, and he clambered back into the boat. The captain held the ladle to his mouth as he leant carefully over the bucket to sip it. Not a drop could be spared, and so very few drops remained. He swallowed, looked up, and found Jack's gaze meeting his own. Aubrey's gauntness gave him a soulful, almost supernatural appearance quite unlike his usual jocund self. They regarded each other for a long moment, neither pair of eyes wavering, until the next man fretfully reminded them that "we ain't got a mind to wait all day for that water."

They had been saved, eventually, by the _Java_, 38, then captured by the American frigate _Constitution_. Their time aboard _Java_ had been a brief respite for Stephen: he had eaten a prodigious amount of ship's biscuit, avoided the gunroom with its incessant talk of the American war, and resorted to his cabin where he had written at great length in his diary, expressing his inner turmoil without hesitation or caution. Then there had been the chaos and exhilaration of battle with the Constitution, the blood and noise and the concentration as he had worked at his station in the orlop. Man after man came below, broken and battered, and he patched them up or sawed them apart or gave them what ease he could offer as they died, as necessity demanded. And then, in the endless procession, had come Jack with his arm brutally shattered.

Stephen swayed where he stood, and reached out a hand to steady himself. It was not the first time Jack had come to him injured, not by any calculation, but it was the first such incident since New Holland's revelation.

"Just splint it up, and you may have it off later if you wish," Jack said. Practised professionalism overcame his emotion: Stephen bound the arm tightly and sent him back up on deck, with a heartfelt prayer that he might come below again on his own two feet when the battle was over.

Jack had survived, and even kept his arm, though it had been touch and go for weeks. He slept now, and had been snoring sonorously when Stephen had looked in on him some hours ago.

Maturin's hand was moving more rapidly over the loose pages as the night wore on, his manner more agitated as he wrote of everything that had happened since the Java's surrender.

"They took my diary, and in my concern for Jack and constant attendance upon him I hardly knew it until I was called to account for it. I believed and still believe that my cipher is strong, and the American intelligence service is only in its infancy and may be presumed to lack the requisite skill, yet I was mortally afraid that they should decipher it. Not only my years of spying, but also my secret, shameful love were inscribed therein. Yet how can such a love be called shameful? I am ashamed at my shame, but it does not lessen. Jack's love for me is of the purest Platonic nature that mine seems sordid beside it. Indeed, I hardly know which philosopher gives his name to my love, except that he is most certainly a Greek." He gave a wry shadow of a smile at this, as he dipped his pen and continued. "I find myself afraid, afraid of the strength of my passion, and afraid of discovery. I could not bear for him to know, or even to suspect. I consider myself fortunate that my beloved is so simple a man, so straightforward in his relations and so unlikely to scrutinize his fellow man. The childlike trust which is so often his downfall ashore is my salvation.

"Tomorrow I shall see Villiers again. Though we have both changed so much that I no longer feel the same passion for her, she is still a very dear friend. I do not think that I can confide in her in this matter, but her company at least will be balm to my soul." With this thought of Diana his attention drifted to the square bottle in front of him. He counted out his drops and swallowed them. Then, before the welcome oblivion drifted over him, he took up the loose sheaf of papers on the table and placed them with a certain reverence upon the fire.


End file.
